by Mark Gardner
Joaquin’s eyes followed the new mess and then returned to Andy.
“Plus,” Andy insisted, “they all appear in one day just in time to secure Jensen’s conviction. That’s kind of convenient, don’t you think? The FBI will no doubt pull them from the network and use them in court. It’ll prove Jensen capable of murder. But this kind of power spike... Jensen would have been all over the news, no doubt SPD would have issued an arrest warrant. We would have found him much earlier and predicted that he’d be an up-and-coming murderer. He doesn’t exist on the Last Regiment aside from these videos. It makes no sense.”
Joaquin finally nodded. The tension and his anger died down. Now in his mind's eye, he was beating his fists into the face of a frightened, innocent man. The thought made him sick, so he was quick to chase the nauseating feeling away. He shook his head and met Andy’s intense stare. “Globe made sure that Jensen stayed nice and pretty in jail.”
Badass Orchestra
“Globe made sure that Jensen stayed nice and pretty in jail,” Joaquin declared.
Andy blinked. “It seems that way. That secures his position, paves the way to the Mayor’s chair and plays as enough reason to start a witch-hunt for supers. I can delete them but who knows how many times they’ve been tossed around the Internet until now? How many people saw them? Let me try something else.”
Andy closed the videos, keeping in mind that he should retrace the IP to the source gifting them to the Last Regiment. He entered Jensen’s details again and pulled out his work schedule. Then he booted the city’s archive and snuck his way to the traffic cameras around Jensen’s work.
“It would take hours to hack into every CCTV in the city, but these around Jensen’s work and those around Madison Park should be enough to give us an idea as to what Jensen does in his spare time.”
“I ain’t even mad, bruh. Can you hack into anything?”
Andy didn’t even hear him. “Without these videos, there is nothing on Jensen. Not even a cough. So let’s see where he goes when it’s really him.”
It took an hour for them to scout the time frame between five and six when Jensen left work. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, it was always the same. He got in his car, and Andy made the trouble to follow him to his home. The pattern never changed. But on Friday things were different. They found Jensen coming to work at the business park, and after six they saw him leave. Andy correlated a single Friday to previous ones from months back, and it matched. Jensen took a different route on Fridays.
Miles Jensen took a cab instead of his own car and left in a different direction.
“Where are you going, Mr. Jensen?” Andy’s fingers danced on the keyboard, and his eyes scanned each block of the video displayed on his screen.
“There!” he said and pointed at the traffic lights below which Jensen’s cab took a turn. He followed the cameras and traced the man to his final destination. When the cab dropped off Jensen, it was in a dangerous part of town, near the docks.
“Isn’t that somewhere near Harbor Island? I recognized the bridge when the cab drove over it.”
Joaquin nodded. “Yeah, but what would he want with that place at that hour? It locks down early. Ain’t nobody has any business there that late. Dangerous as fuck.”
Andy listened to Joaquin, biting his lower lip. He feared they’d miss Jensen if the cameras were fucked and he knew they’d be lucky if there were any cameras at all. It took him a while, but after a good thirty minutes, Andy had access to the only CCTV on the artificial island. After a tedious waiting, a corner shot finally showed them Jensen hurrying down the curb, looking around, and then disappearing off screen.
“What was that about?” Joaquin asked, leaning toward the screen, brows furrowed.
“I don’t know. Is he worried someone is following him?”
“In those parts dawg, he better not have “friends” unless he’s a big fish like I said.”
“So, to summarize what’s a city boy, making fifty-k a year doing in Shady Town on a Friday. Buying drugs?” Andy looked at Joaquin. “I bet that if I check those CCTV tapes you brought me they won’t match what we just watched. They’ll be useless.”
Andy was about to make a face, annoyed by the bump in his investigation when the voice at the back of his head pitched in. ‘So...why don’t you two go and find out whether Jensen is Mr. Freeze or not?’ Andy thought. “Do you know what day it is today?” Andy said, grinning. “It’s Friday. If we leave now, we might make it on time. So...what do you say we go and find out what’s happening for real?”
Joaquin just laughed. “You for real, dog? I ain’t getting shot no time soon, but you’d be see-though in a split fam.”
The voice interrupted Andy’s thoughts before he could get angry at Joaquin.
‘I bet...I bet you’re both curious. C’mon, it’ll be an adventure! Convince him! Remember the trip to the warehouse? That was fun, wasn’t it? It’s time for round two, buddy!’
He repeated the words fed by the inner voice in his head but managed to keep his tongue behind his teeth for the last part. The warehouse massacre still frightened him, and he still had nightmares of that day.
“What about Massey?” Joaquin asked.
“We’ll call him on the way.” Andy was practically drooling, itching to move, to do. “Come on, aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to solve this mess on your own, save the old detective some breath?” Andy was sure Joaquin caught the addictive sparkle in his eyes. And he was equally certain, Joaquin was up for the task, to be the hero of the hour.
Andy was putting on his jacket and searching his room for his camera. Joaquin stretched his legs. Andy’s apartment was a claustrophobic kind of place with colorless walls. He went to the window and pulled the crooked blinds aside. A black SUV was parked down on the street.
Just as Joaquin was about to say something, there was a ping sound from the Last Regiment message system. Andy rushed to his beloved keyboard and opened the message.
“It’s a request for approval of another video from the same user who uploaded the Jensen videos.”
Joaquin stepped away from the window, forgetting about the vehicle. “Are you gonna open it?”Andy toyed with a playful smile, waiting for the temptation to burn through him. Then he greenlit the request and opened the video file.
A low buzz quickly escalated to the hissing sound of unstable electricity. It was suddenly visible, the blue-white sparks inside the smoke. The screen went black and when Andy touched the keyboard it crackled, the plastic exploding with finger-biting sparks. Andy recoiled, cursing, “What the fuck is happening?”
Joaquin tried to pull him aside, but Andy went on all fours and reached for the cables at the back of his PC. He flinched back twice, grimacing at the searing of his skin, the hot cable melting inches from his hasty touch. He wrapped his hand with his jacket and reached again, ignoring Joaquin’s attempts to pry him away. Joaquin put his hands on Andy’s shoulders and pulled back. But Andy had grabbed hold of the power cable and yanked at it. Then bang! And both Andy and Joaquin were flung back.
Joaquin rolled on his stomach and pushed himself up with arms that refused to follow his commands. His body hurt. His head swam in a sea of sound and noise. His vision was blurry, but he was all right. The desk, however, was slowly catching fire, the plastic of the keyboard melting with a foul smell. Joaquin quickly crawled to where Andy was lying, motionless.
“C’mon man, get up!” he hissed, shaking Andy.
Andy’s fingers were charred black where the short circuit bang had hit him. A thin trail of blood was running from his nose, and when Joaquin felt for a pulse, he found it barely noticeable. He flipped Andy over and dragged him away from the growing flames. Once Andy was safe, Joaquin pulled the blanket from the bed that appeared to be free of debris and tried to snuff out the rapidly growing fire. Someone banged on the door. Sirens already blared in the distance. Help had arrived.
Another round of banging on the apartment door was followed
by a gruff voice: “This is the FBI, open up!”
Joaquin froze. He assessed how bad the situation was. Andy was lying on the floor barely alive, the apartment was full of evidence from the Last Regiment that could hurt a lot of specific innocent people, and Joaquin had one of those faces the cops found intriguing. He remembered what Massey had said about being followed—the SUV in front of his house wasn’t a coincidence. Only it had followed him and not Betty. Joaquin had carried the stolen evidence right here, incriminating Andy too.
“Last warning! Open the door, or we’ll be forced to break it down!”
Joaquin had to think quickly. If these were Globe’s men, he had to ditch them. He went back to Andy and searched his pockets for his car keys.
“I’m so sorry, man. Shit!”
He took one last look at Andy and charged for the door. It broke quickly under his weight, slamming down two men in civilian clothes holding guns but no badges. One toppled down the stairs, and the other smacked his shoulder against the wall, losing his gun. It was tempting for Joaquin to try to grab it, but the man was quick to recover and grab Joaquin, twisting his wrist and pulling him back. Joaquin stumbled on the stairwell landing but managed to connect an elbow to the FBI agent’s face, pushing him back. The other attacker crept up the stairs and punched him in the kidney, and Joaquin took a knee. Leave it to the FBI to sucker punch a brother, thought Joaquin.
The FBI agent used his strong arms to grab Joaquin from behind and lock him in a painful bear hug and turned the struggling Joaquin toward his partner. Joaquin struggled to twist his head back and spit at the grunts, and offensive words yelled in his ear, but the other FBI agent had already dismissed his split lip and bruised chin and attacked his prey, fueled by anger. Joaquin made an attempt to duck, but the strong fist met his face nonetheless, hitting him under the chin, bouncing his head back. He found his footing soon enough and pushed himself up against his captor’s chest using him for support. His kick landed in the stomach, doubling the FBI agent over. The force pushed the other one back inside the burning apartment; Joaquin managed to wrench himself free and distance himself from the agents. He made quick time in grabbing the lip-bleeder and pinned him against the wall in a constant rain of punches aimed at his ribs. Joaquin could almost feel the bones cracking under the layer of clothing and skin. When the man slumped down, wailing, he kicked the man in the stomach. Joaquin paused as a flash of guilt washed over him and then made his escape down the stairs.
The shot rang louder than anything. It hit Joaquin’s thigh, making him stumble on his way down the steps. He looked up to see that the agent found his misplaced weapon and took aim to fire again. The second shot whizzed past his head, and a puff of drywall told him where the bullet had hit. Joaquin ducked and tripped. The pain in his leg faded, and another shot barked. He felt the impact on his hand, his fingers instantly numb. His digits refused to grasp the doorknob. Another shot, and more drywall flaked off next to the doorframe. He fumbled with his other hand and burst through the door onto a parking lot hidden from the street. Joaquin fumbled Andy’s keys in his numb fingers and pressed the panic button.
A gray Honda Civic that was more dents and rust than car warbled from the rear of the lot and Joaquin climbed quickly inside. The agents emerged from the building and raised their guns at him. One bullet hit the side view mirror. Joaquin lowered himself and twisted the key into the ignition, the engine coughing until the whole car rattled to life. The agents ran toward him, bloodied, angry and limping. He pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The car belched a puff of something sulfuric, lurched forward, and Joaquin had enough time to twist the steering wheel to the left to dodge the pair of FBI agents. Instinctively, he ducked again as bullets rained after him, trashing the back window and buried deep in the cracked leather of the passenger seat.
The front bumper hit the street with a loud thud that caused Joaquin to bounce in his seat, but he kept the wheel steady with his sweaty hands. Feeling was returning to his fingers, and his grip was white-knuckled. He scowled at a cheese knife dangling from Andy’s rearview. He ignored the odd knife and saw in the rearview mirror the agents stumble into the street, look around, and holster their weapons. The last thing he saw as the Honda Civic cleared the rise was both agents with cell phones glued to their ears, and smoke billowing from a second story window above Moe’s Exotic Herbs.
Joaquin hoped that he’d done enough to pull Andy to safety. Joaquin knew that they’d need the oddball hacker before they brought Doctor Globe and his plans crashing down.
Joaquin drove without a direction, just building speed, gaining a head start.
But to where?
Soon enough the black SUV was maneuvering between cars, wheels screeching on the asphalt, rushing to catch up with him. He couldn’t go back to Massey, he couldn’t give himself up. Andy was probably dead by now. The address for Jensen’s strange meeting was the only neutral place he could think of. He could dodge the cops on the way there. In seconds that seemed the only choice.
He wanted to know how this mess connected to him; to Massey; to Jensen; to Anne; to Globe. Joaquin took a sharp right, and the SUV followed. It inched closer to him, and Joaquin could hear its hungry roar; see it looming like a black shadow behind him. Its headlights shone over the Civic, engulfing it. They had a spotlight on him, and they weren’t turning it off until he was handcuffed or dead.
Joaquin pushed the rattletrap Civic to its limit swerving around slower cars, ignoring their blaring horns. He took another sharp turn and left the boulevard to descend smaller streets; emptier streets outside the International District, leaving the bright lights for frail and sickly yellow ones that built the path to Jensen’s mysterious disappearance. They entered a roll of cars that screeched and propelled themselves with absurd speed up and down dirty streets. Every vehicle was a stranger; behind every window was a face that didn’t look, caught up in the sound of music and aggressive verse. Joaquin blended in with the slow traffic, but the SUV stood out. People blocked its path, shouting with their horns. Agents ran a red light within an inch from an oncoming truck that stopped abruptly and blocked them. Joaquin took his chance, left the angry trail, and bounced alone on the road to nowhere.
The road became uneven, with patches of asphalt overlapping one another, dark gray, light gray, charcoal, rattling under the tires. From the manholes, white underground fumes turned the street misty and gray, and the windows of dark homes, aligned identically left and right, glistened with tiny droplets slipping down the glass. Joaquin sped past all that, hitting every puddle and splashing muddy water. He glanced in his rearview mirror, still looking for the SUV and when he found the street clear he let out a cheer. But just then the SUV erupted from a side alley and banged into him sending the Civic slipping sideways, its bumper collecting trash cans, fences, and other obstacles. Joaquin recovered and found himself side by side with the SUV. The window rolled down, and the broken-nosed agent aimed his gun at Joaquin. The agent’s face contorted, his mouth blew blood and saliva as he yelled some order, but Joaquin didn’t care. He twisted the wheel and collided into the SUV, knocking the agent out of view.
The narrow street seemed to do the trick. The stunt gave Joaquin enough time to gain speed and rush ahead. The agents didn’t chance a showdown so near homes that had ears and eyes. They didn’t shoot at him, but that didn’t mean they were over and done with their hunt.
The SUV went up a gear and caught up on Joaquin with lightning speed. Its front bumper hit the Civic lurching Joaquin in his seat and his control into a short frenzy.
“Fuckin’ shit!”
Another bump dislocated the Civic’s back bumper cover, and it rolled under the SUV in a heap of sparks.
Joaquin tried to focus as his eyes searched street names in the dark. He was close, he knew. The smell of the river hit his nostrils through the drafty shattered window. He could hear the seagulls in the distance, the ever-growing splash of water. He had to act fast.
The SUV hit him ag
ain and sent him skidding. He involuntarily took a sharp left and nearly rolled the Civic. His world became a blur, the wheel spun out of control; the view outside matched his head. His foot tried to find the pedal to hit the brakes, but it missed. Joaquin recovered in time to see an elderly woman pushing a shopping cart across the street. He grabbed the wheel and slammed his foot on the brakes. The maneuver sent him sliding past the woman, but he hit a street light, and the car flipped on its side crumpling the passenger door. Behind him, the SUV didn’t stand a chance. Its weight carried it further on the slippery road. The SUV took flight, tires rolling in the air and crashed through a small red shack spilling nets and fishing rods on its way. The out-of-control speed carried it through the patch of woods that grew at the bank, and it flew into the gaping blackness of the Duwamish River.
Joaquin climbed out of the shattered windshield of the Civic. He felt every tiny glass fragment digging into his palms and fingers, but they couldn’t pierce his skin. He looked around and found people climbing out of their cars and running toward him. Joaquin waved them away and took one look at Andy’s car, shaking his head at the wreckage he’d made. He then ambled to where the SUV was slowly sinking in the river.
There were no signs of life, no bubbles in the water, no hand emerging from the water asking for help. People were diving desperately to save whoever was caught up in that car, drowning. Joaquin just stood in the periphery of it all, numb from the receding rush of adrenaline. He squeezed where his arm had hurt a moment ago and realized there was no pain left. He let go of his tattered sleeve and tucked is hands in his pockets.
